Remember Me
by wynteralchemyst
Summary: "She watched the timeline to see him." Feeling the loneliness of an observer of the entire timeline, Lightning finds herself watching the life of one person in particular. The night before it all goes down in Academia, she allows herself to see him.
1. Remember me

**EDIT: I polished this story in preparation for its sequel, "Meeting You." If you enjoy this one, please give that one a look!**

**Author's Note: I had two goals in mind when I began writing this story: for Hope and Lightning to have a 'Moment' (because I was disappointed that they didn't have one in the game), and for the story to be told from Lightning's POV.**

**Apparently these were difficult requirements, because this story was really hard for me to write. I had numerous writers' blocks and I had to scratch out a lot of it (I blame Lightning).**

**As a result, I have no idea if this story actually works or not. Feedback would be appreciated to let me know if I did okay. I have my fingers crossed, hoping I did.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own rights to FFXIII-2**

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><p>Remember Me<p>

Chapter One

She watched the timeline to see him.

It wasn't like that in the beginning. When Lightning first got to Valhalla, she only watched every once in a while, when she was sure the visions wouldn't be a distraction. The last thing she wanted, after all, was to fail in her duties as Etro's Champion. And even then, when she did feel safe enough to indulge herself, Lightning watched her sister and her friends.

She saw what they did with their lives and she felt pride.

As time went on, she learned to sense when Caius was in Valhalla and when he was not. There were many days when Caius did not even come to the city, and Lightning relaxed enough to let herself spar against Odin and practice her gymnastic skills. She even let herself look longer at the timeline.

After watching the fate of humankind play out, Lightning turned to the past. She watched Fang and Vanille's life on Pulse and the conflict that spiraled into the War of Transgression. She watched the numberless Paddra Nsu-Yeuls and identified Caius, who stood behind each Yeul like a dark shadow. She watched her own life as a child, before her parents' deaths, and saw her little sister be born. Lightning's eyes pricked at the innocent smile on little Claire's youthful face, and wished she could tell her younger self that such happiness wouldn't last.

Eventually she turned again to her friends' futures. In the complicated manner of the timeline, she saw many possibilities: one where Serah lived with Snow and had a long, happy life. There was another when Serah, accompanied by the boy from the end of days, sought to save the weakened goddess Etro. She watched Snow travel from era to era, and Sazh in the pleasure world of Serendipity.

And she watched Hope.

In the quiet passing of time, she saw Hope's anguish grow as, one by one, his fellow ex-l'Cie vanished from his life. He pushed himself into the new societies that were being founded on Pulse and battled the scorn and hatred that met him from the people of Cocoon. He worked hard in school and his ideas caught the interest of the new pseudo-government, but he always seemed alone. Even with friends or his father, Hope appeared ill at ease, like he knew he didn't belong.

Then Serah and Noel came to the future, when Hope was ten years older. Hope was stunned to hear that Lightning had come in Serah's dreams, assigning her a task. Considering the ways that the others had left, he figured that Lightning must have come to them as well.

Lightning watched as, that night, Hope raged in his rooms at the unfairness of it all.

"Why didn't she come to _me_?" He shouted, running his hands through his silver hair. "Why didn't I get asked to help? Why am I the only one _still here_?" In a rare display of violence, he kicked the edge of a chair, sending it skittering away. "Lightning, talk to me!"

Lightning knew why she didn't: Hope was a major influence on the world's future. It was his cleverness, his ingenuity that would avert disaster and save millions of lives. But there was raw emotion in Hope's voice—ten years' worth of misery, and it tore at a part of Lightning's heart when she realized she was the source of his sadness.

She watched Hope fend away admirers one after another, his smile polite but his eyes distant. Every morning after he woke up, he cast a glance toward the distant pillar, almost as if to reassure himself it was still there. When Serah and Noel came back to visit, as they sometimes did, one of Hope's first questions was unfailingly, "have you found her yet?" To which Serah would always have to reply no. In Hope's office, he always kept a single rose, delicate and pale pink, in a vase on his desk. When his assistant Alyssa once asked him about it, Hope told her it was in memory of someone.

When Lightning saw Hope watching the Oracle Drive over and over again, far too many times than research dictated was necessary, she suddenly understood.

"Hope is... in love with me," she murmured, trying the words out in the silent air.

She wasn't sure she believed it. She had spent so little time with him during the Purge. He always seemed preoccupied with revenge and his hatred for Snow. Besides, they were always on the run; there was no time for l'Cie to form _lasting relationships_, Lightning reasoned.

But she remembered how Hope's eyes had lit up the first time he'd seen the Oracle Drive's recording of her, and Lightning began to doubt.

She looked earlier on the timeline and watched her time as a l'Cie. She had spent half the journey alone with Hope, so they came to know each other quite well. But this time, Lightning watched for signs of Hope's budding feelings. He let her take point, let her make the final kill in small skirmishes, and let her take care of the gil and weapon upgrades. This wasn't significant evidence; Hope had been a shy boy and Lightning had been, granted, pissed at her fate as a l'Cie. But as time went on, Hope's crush became more obvious. He called her Light and was eager to shout confidence when she was fatigued in battle. When she complemented him, he smiled broadly at her, blushing when Snow or Fang raised an eyebrow at him. Lightning taught him how to cook over a campfire, and Hope caught one of the small sheep on Gran Pulse - just because Lightning mentioned that she might like to see how soft their wool was. When Lightning's gun blade broke against the armor of a wild behemoth, Hope fixed it for her, his early skills in mechanical engineering surpassing even Lightning's broad field training. The sincerity in Lightning's thanks made Hope's smile radiant.

When everyone woke from crystal and Lightning wasn't there, Hope had turned away, hiding the sorrow and loss that showed starkly on his face.

Now Lightning stepped back from Etro's Throne, dropping her hand from the timeline. "Hope _is_ in love with me," she said softly.

There was a soft stirring in her chest that had grown with each flashback she had witnessed. Lightning pressed a hand over her heart. It was racing, like she was about to spring into battle. What did it mean? Her eyes swept through the empty room of alabaster stone and she wished, not for the first time, that there was another living person here.

_I wish that person was Hope_.

The thought shocked her. She _wasn't_ in love with him... was she? Uneasily she remembered the fluttering in her heart, which flared again when she thought of Hope. Quickly Lightning began to list reasons to prove she had no feelings for him: she hadn't been all that nice to him, she didn't have any emotions for him to speak of until now, she hadn't informed him she was alive, unlike the others...

_I don't have feelings for him_, she told herself sternly.

_I don't_.

_Besides, he's so much younger than I am._

"Technically he's older than me, now," she said softly to herself.

The feeble reasons were falling apart. Lightning felt... _something_. But she wasn't ready to admit it.

"This is ridiculous," she hissed angrily. She turned on her heel and strode out of the room, eager to be rid of that _fluttery_ feeling with a rigorous sparring exercise.

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><p>Two days later, the flutter still remained.<p>

Lightning's feelings for Hope had grown, much to her chagrin. Now she wanted to see him in person.

"This is a weakness I can't afford," she snapped at herself irritably. "I am already vulnerable with Serah. If Caius finds out—" She broke off, already knowing what would happen.

She had tried to suppress her emotions and the growing longing to see more of Hope. Yesterday she had given in and watched more of the timeline—Hope's childhood and the rest of his life until the day he died. But Lightning quickly realized that she wanted _more_; to see him, touch him, perhaps even tell him... what?

She didn't know what to do beyond that point.

Besides, there was a problem that thoughts of Hope were distracting her from: Caius hadn't come to Valhalla in many weeks, making Lightning feel apprehensive. She guessed that Caius was preparing for a larger attack than he had attempted before. If this was the case, she needed to focus or train harder, not spend her time wondering about Hope.

Lightning sighed, cursing her crumbling restraint. She knew herself well enough to admit that only one thing would cool her curiosity.

"To hell with it," she muttered.

She had left Valhalla before, but not for long. Lightning went back to the timeline and scoured it for a time when she could get in and out quickly, without raising questions. If possible, she wanted to see Hope and not talk to him; she could imagine the doubtless awkward conversation that would ensue and wanted to avoid it if she could.

Eventually she found the perfect time: 500 AF, in Hope's city of Academia. Hope had traveled there a few days earlier to witness the shift from the old Cocoon to the new one. It was the night before the timeline claimed the pillar would begin to crack in earnest, and Hope was asleep in his hotel room. Lightning smiled a little. Conceivably, he would be too exhausted from his busy duties as Academy Director to stir when she arrived.

She created a gate for herself and, checking once more to make sure Caius hadn't suddenly appeared in the silent city, she went through to the other side.

Lightning fell to a crouch as she exited the gate, lifting her head to survey her surroundings. The room was dark, the only light coming from between the wide shades on the widow on the wall across from her. A desk with a mirror sat to her right, and a generously-sized bed stood in the middle of the room, its headboard pressed against the wall to the left.

Slowly Lightning stood, wincing as the armor clicked when she straightened her legs. She remembered that Hope had always been a light sleeper and glanced warily at the bed. But Hope hadn't moved; he was stretched out on the bed, still dressed in his Academy uniform. _He is _very _exhausted_, Lighting thought, noting that he had only taken off what was essential before falling asleep: his bags and belts were slung over a chair, and his boomerang and phone sat on the bedside table.

Treading as lightly as she could, Lightning made her way towards Hope's sleeping form. The soft shifting of her armor seemed to echo in the silence, and for once she wished that Etro's blessing had been made for stealth, not protection. She stepped over Hope's boots and slowed, now at his side. He was turned away so she couldn't see his face, but Lightning told herself she preferred it that way; she felt less like a voyeur.

The filtered light from the window shone on Hope's hair, making it shine a crystalline white. A hand was tucked under his head in slumber, the pads of three fingers peeking out between strands of hair. Lightning's eyes followed the stripe of pale gold that ran the length of his arm to his other hand, where it curled in the folds of the bed. His chest rose and fell gently in the slow cadence of sleep.

_He is so close_.

Her left hand rose and hovered over his head, an iron-strong resolve the only thing holding her back. To touch him would surely wake him. But she wanted to; she wanted to feel his hair slide between her fingers, to touch the smooth curve of his cheek.

The desire was so strong it stunned her. Lightning took a slow breath and carefully pulled herself back. _I'm a fool_, she told herself bitterly. _I should have known that, once I got here, I would want more_. She turned away from Hope and began to pick her way towards the gate_. This isn't because I feel anything for him_, she thought fiercely. _A part of me longs for human interaction, no more. If I had been with anyone else, this would be the same-_

"Wait."

Lightning froze. So she had woken him after all. She heard the rustle of fabric as Hope stood behind her. She didn't respond, her eyes lowered to the side.

After several moments he said, "you're here, but... now you're leaving." There was hurt in his voice.

She shut her eyes, pained. "I thought you were asleep," she said, her normally low voice even deeper from months of scarce use.

Hope stepped closer and she stiffened instinctively. "Why did you come?" he asked quietly.

Lightning looked up. Directly across from her was the mirror. She saw her own reflection and Hope's, over her shoulder. He looked pale and tired, with a look on his face that said he was expecting an empty reply. Lightning looked away, noticing for the first time a slim vase balanced on the edge of the desk. Inside it was a faint pink rose.

"I came to see you," she murmured, and instantly regretted it; she had revealed far too much of herself too easily. But the words could not be taken back. She watched in the mirror as Hope's eyes found hers. He opened his mouth to respond, but she quickly talked over him. "You've been... worrying about me. Don't. I came to show you that I'm fine."

"And that man you fight—Caius," he said slowly. "You will defeat him soon?"

"I don't know," she admitted wearily. But the truth was, she had watched the timeline many times and in several of its possibilities, she did not exist.

Abruptly Lightning turned away. "I have left Valhalla unprotected," she muttered. "I need to return."

Hope bowed his head, vividly reminding Lightning of the little boy he had been years ago. "Thank you for—for coming," he said. His voice was thick, like he was trying to prevent disappointment from seeping into his words. "I don't want to keep you."

Lightning's heart _hurt_, like it was straining to detach itself from her chest. She turned to face Hope and realized suddenly how very tall he had become; her eyes were now level with his chin. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. She reached up and brushed his bangs away from his eyes.

She wished she wasn't wearing gloves.

Hope had lifted his head and was looking at her. "Why are you apologizing?" He murmured.

"I..." She slowly dropped her hand and lowered her eyes to the pale blue tie that hung on his chest. Tentatively she brushed the tie with her knuckles, then gently caught it between two fingers. "I don't know if I'm strong enough," she whispered.

He stepped closer, and the stirring in her chest burned with his proximity. "You are the strongest person I've ever met," he said softly.

"Not for this." Lightning realized, then, the incredible courage that every person in love had—that they were willing to lower their guards and let another person into their heart.

Her pulse pounded in her ears and she crumpled Hope's tie in her hand. "Hope—" She gasped, but didn't know how to articulate her vulnerability, her uncertainty, her longing for him.

She underestimated how well Hope had come to know her. He crushed her against him, his arms tight around her back. Lightning, her arms trapped against Hope's chest, clenched her hands in the folds of his jacket. She could feel his heart beating underneath her, matching hers in its hasty pace.

For a long moment she stood there, trying to memorize the warmth she felt as she stood in Hope's arms. Then she turned her head and, hesitantly, pressed her lips against his.

Hope's response was immediate. He went rigid for a few moments, then kissed her in return, his mouth moving heavily against hers. He caressed her cheek with his thumb, the other fingers of his hand curling under Lightning's chin to tilt her head up to his. Her hands were pressed against his chest, discovering muscles there that the layers of his clothing couldn't quite hide. Hope made a low sound and pulled her hips against his. Lightning shivered in anticipation.

Suddenly Hope stepped away. "Damn it," he groaned, turning away to brace his hands on the wall. "I can't do this to you, Light."

Lightning took a long slow breath, trying to steady her erratic heart. "What can't you do?" she asked, voice unsteady.

He shook his head. "You know what I mean. I... I feel like I'd be taking advantage of you."

She smiled. It seemed that Hope had become a gentleman in the years that he'd seen her last. "It wouldn't be, if I allowed it," she told him softly.

Hope stepped away from the wall. His eyes were dark with desire, but he stayed a few steps apart. "I don't want us to simply be a one-night stand," he explained. "I have cared for you for so long, and I want... I want more than that."

Lightning considered the man before her. He was in earnest about what he was saying, and his ragged breathing and colored cheeks assured her this wasn't a rejection. _If anything_, Lightning thought, watching him, _he wishes he didn't have the moral boundaries that he does_.

"You waited for me," she said eventually, "so it is fair that I'll wait for you."

Relief—and, fleetingly, regret—crossed his face. "Thank you," he said humbly. "I—"

"—but let me do something first," Lightning continued smoothly. She unbuckled the armor on one arm, then the other, watching Hope all the while. His expression flickered between dismay and hopeful expectation. Smiling, Lightning pulled the long gloves off and dropped them on the bed, her arms now completely bare. She stepped close to Hope and pushed a hand through his hair. It was soft and thick and utterly wonderful. Her smile became one of amusement and she cupped her other hand on his cheek.

Hope shut his eyes and covered her hand with one of his. "You... Light, you know that I..." He began haltingly, "I've always—"

"I know." She remembered her view of him on the timeline and the countless times he had talked about her, raged about her, and dreamed about her in her absence. The words had been in his actions, even if they had never been spoken.

Lightning leaned in and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss. "Hope," she said quietly, "if something happens, I want you to remember me this way, the way I am now. Not how I was before."

"Not as aggressive, dangerous, and beautiful?" Hope teased mildly.

"Remember me here, wanting you," she corrected softly. "I think I may need someone who will remember me with fondness, when this is over."

His smile faded. "Are you saying something will happen to you?"

She pulled away. "I can't say." But as she put on her gloves and armor, she couldn't help but remember again the many futures that the timeline had shown her missing.

At the gate, she touched his hand. "Stay safe, Hope."

"And you," he told her, his hands tightening briefly.

Lightning turned, and she had almost stepped through when Hope said, "I love you, Claire Farron."

She paused for a moment, then exited through the gate_. He said it after all_, she thought, and smiled.


	2. Memory

**Author's Note: I wasn't planning on adding anything more to this little one-shot, but then this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone... so now you have this.**

**I love Hope's Theme (in XIII and XIII-2), and how they stay consistent in that they're mainly guitar solos. This fact strongly (as you will soon see) influenced my idea.**

**Oh, and the little song is original; I made it up last night.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>Remember Me<p>

Chapter Two: Memory

Hope Estheim couldn't sleep.

He stared at the digital clock on his bedside table. It was three in the morning and far too early to be so completely sleepless.

But he had been, ever since Lightning stepped into his hotel room.

He had tried to go to sleep after she left, but it was impossible; every nerve in his body was alert. His mind couldn't settle and thoughts flew through his brain at a thousand miles an hour, keeping him awake.

She was here. She was really here.

She looked at him. Smiled at him. Talked to him.

She said she had watched him, from Valhalla.

She cared for him. Maybe she even... loved him.

And she had wanted to sleep with him.

His mind returned to this point, over and over again. He was stunned and, strangely, fascinated by this. Lightning, the strong, independent woman who had steered his life when he was fourteen; who had occupied his dreams and was his motivation for moving forward; who was now the reason why his heart beat fast, whose memory stayed with him, even with his eyes open—she had _wanted_ him.

And he had turned her down.

Hope groaned and rolled onto his back. "I am such an idiot," he told himself ruefully.

He wondered if Lightning was watching him now. _If she is,_ he thought, _she's probably smiling._

He stared up at the ceiling for a few more minutes and, resigned to accept insomnia, he sat up.

There were two things Hope had requested for his hotel room when he arrived in 500 AF: one was the pink rose, which now sat on his desk, and an acoustic guitar. Neither had earned him the odd looks he had been half-expecting; he supposed that everyone thought he was far too important of a person to be ridiculed for peculiar preferences.

Hope stood and retrieved the guitar from its place in the corner and sat, cradling it on the edge of the bed. When he was a young boy, his father, Bartholomew, would sometimes play guitar for him. He had short, fragmented memories of Nora, his mother, teaching him how to sing, and his father strumming in accompaniment to the side. Over the years, Bartholomew gave up the guitar, saying it was for a different time—a happier time. Then Nora died and when Hope returned to his father, now as an ex-l'Cie, Bartholomew slowly began to play guitar again. He began, Hope thought, in an effort to distract his son, whose silences and distant glances toward the pillar unnerved Bartholomew and made him worry. Then Bartholomew began to teach Hope to play and together, the father and son began to heal.

Now, after ten years, Hope found it was almost easier to think with the guitar in his hands than without it. Playing helped him to relax. He fished around his pocket for a pick and gently played the open strings. The B string was slightly out of tune. He tightened it until the pitch was perfect. Smiling a little, Hope played a few chords. A, D, G. It was amazing how the press of the strings against his fingertips immediately began to slow down his erratic heart.

He remembered the nights on Pulse, when everyone was gathered around the campfire to keep off the evening chill. Vanille sang sometimes, the old songs from Oerba taking on new life in her high, strong voice. Fang refused to sing, as did Snow—though his excuse was mostly that the songs he did know weren't meant for 'innocent ears,' and then he would glance suggestively at Hope. Hope never passed the chance to give him a dirty look in return, and sang a few things himself. Everyone seemed to like his soft baritone; even Sazh came in on harmonica sometimes to back him up.

But Lightning never sang. Not even when Vanille pleaded and Sazh cajoled, her answer was always the same: "I don't sing." And she never did except for one night, when all the others were asleep. Lightning was on watch, and Hope woke to her low voice, audible above the crackle and snap of the fire. Her voice was smooth with undertones of attitude and defiance, like some of the Jazz singers his father enjoyed. As she sang, Hope tried to memorize the way she sounded then, knowing it might be his only chance.

"You sound beautiful," he told her quietly when she was finished.

She spoke without turning. "You couldn't sleep?"

"Not for long," he admitted sheepishly.

He waited for her to glare at him, but she didn't. She only said, "well, I know how that goes."

"I'm sorry," he said, staring at her profile in the flickering light.

Lightning didn't reply.

They were silent for a long while. Then she said slowly, "one of us should get a good night's rest. If I sing a little, will you go to sleep?"

Hope could hardly believe his ears. He cleared his throat and said, as casually as he could manage, "sure."

He feigned sleep that night as he listened to her, the woman he was beginning to realize he couldn't live without.

Sometimes he almost thought he could remember her voice, if he focused hard enough.

Hope shifted the round body of the guitar, moving his fingers up a few frets. He tried out a few chord changes and turned to look thoughtfully across the room. His brain registered a few seconds later what he was seeing: the pink rose.

Roses. Lightning always smelled of roses, back then. The cascade of petals that spilled out whenever she struck her Eidolon's crystal seemed constant, near the end. It was only after Lightning had vanished that Hope realized how much the scent of the flower was associated, to his mind, with comfort.

She still smelled of roses when she was here just an hour ago.

Hope turned back to the guitar in his arms. Checking his finger positions, he said softly, "this is for you, Light."

He began to sing.

_I think of you  
><em>_when I'm here alone at night  
><em>_when I just can't stand the fight,  
><em>_I'm dreaming of you._

_ I wish you knew  
><em>_I want you here by my side  
><em>_I want you to be my light,  
><em>_darling, it's true._

_ What I would do  
><em>_is take you to the highest height  
><em>_and cut my heart loose to fly  
><em>_home to you._

_ I think of you  
><em>_when I'm not close to you.  
><em>_When you're not close to me  
><em>_promise that you'll think of me,  
><em>_and I'll be fine._

_ At least I'll try._

When the last note filled the air, Hope could almost feel Lightning's presence, like she was there in the room with him. He knew she was watching him from the timeline. Hope smiled, feeling closer to her now than he ever had during the ten long years before tonight.

"I'll try," he repeated softly. "For you, Light, I will."


End file.
